


Can't Get Enough of a Bad Thing

by kelios



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Addiction, Blood Drinking, Dark fic, Demon Blood Addiction, Demon Dean, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Rape, Suicide, Wincest - Freeform, crack tropes used seriously, dark Sam and Dean, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-28 13:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13272360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Sam: How much would you miss me if I died?Dean: It's cute how you think death can get you out of this relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @thorkiship18 and @rosskl, because I love them and they asked nicely.

“If I'd died, how much would you miss me?” Sam’s voice is weak, thready, a harsh rasp that’s tinged with blood and tears. 

“Oh, sweetheart. It’s cute how you think death could get you out of this relationship.” Dean smiles at him fondly, gently tucking a strand of sweaty hair behind his ear. Sam sighs into the touch against his will. 

“Relationship?” Sam shifts on the bed, thighs aching and bruised, heart tripping jackrabbit fast inside the cage of his ribs. “Dean...please. Just let me go.” He raises a shaking hand to Dean’s cheek, to the bruised hollow of Dean’s throat, trying not to see the razor thin scar that follows the thick blue vein from his wrist to his elbow. 

“Never.” Dean’s voice is tender, but there’s steel underneath the softness. “I love you, Sam. You’re the only thing I _do_ love, now. Without you…” Dean catches Sam’s hand, kisses the scar as Sam shivers. “Without you to remind me how to love, who knows what I might do.” He follows the thin raised line to the bend of Sam’s elbow with his lips and tongue, drawing a faint moan from Sam, then leans forward to kiss the matching scar on Sam’s throat, angry and red, strokes a gentle finger over the deep punctures high up on Sam's thighs. “Everything I’ve ever done was for you, Sammy, just like you wanted. You know that.”

“I know,” Sam whispers, and he can’t help the guilty, twisted surge of pleasure Dean’s words bring, or the self loathing that follows it. “ _I know_. I just--” He can’t say it again, not with Dean’s hands on him, not when Dean’s smiling down at him with what's left of his heart on his sleeve. Not when Dean’s right, when it’s all Sam’s fault. When it’s _always_ been Sam’s fault, from the first kiss to the last. 

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up,” Dean says warmly. “I’ve already got breakfast waiting, and then we need to get on that angel infestation over in Kansas City.” Dean stands, tugging Sam up with him. Sam smiles reluctantly, never able to resist Dean’s affection. Dean winces at the first step down the hallway, and Sam can’t help a small laugh. 

“Oh sure, laugh it up,” Dean mock grumbles. He pulls Sam tight against him, kissing away the surprised sound Sam makes, swallowing the groan that follows it as Sam kisses him back with growing passion. “I never did know when to say when.” 

“How about never?” Sam whispers, his reluctance burning away in the heat of Dean’s body, his blood. He scrapes his teeth over the thin skin of Dean’s throat, over the rapidly fading mark he’d made last night. Dean moans, one hand tangling in Sam’s hair, the other at the small of his back, locking them together. Arousal flares through Sam as the scent of Dean’s blood washes over him, washes away any doubts he might have had in a hot, red wave. 

“That’s it, baby,” Dean murmurs, pressing Sam’s mouth against him, voice cracking as Sam’s teeth break through the scabbed over flesh. Blood pours into Sam’s mouth, scalding, dark and bitter, reeking of sulphur and rotted dreams, and Sam drinks it down eagerly, his cock swelling against the soft give of Dean’s belly. “Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groans as Sam shoves him back against the wall with new found strength. 

“That’s the idea,” Sam says with a bloody grin. He can’t remember what he was so down about before, can’t think of anything except _Dean_ as he digs his fingers into the thick meat of Dean’s thighs and lifts, slamming Dean into the wall as Dean growls into his mouth and licks away every last trace of blood. 

“Come on, come on,” Dean urges hotly, green eyes involuntarily flashing black as he tries to grind against Sam’s abs. Sam turns them green again with a casual flick of his stolen power. 

“Wanna see the real you when I fuck you open,” Sam growls as he shoves into Dean’s willing body. He bottoms out with a single hard thrust, sinking his teeth into Dean’s throat again as Dean cries out through gritted teeth. Dean shudders against him, working his cock as Sam pounds into him. “That’s it, Dean, get yourself off--wanna feel you come around me--feel so fucking good, Dean, God--” Heat surges through Sam, black and sticky-hot as Dean’s blood, crashing over him as he slams into Dean one last time and comes. Dean clenches around Sam, pleasure throbbing through both of them again as white streaks his chest and hand. 

Sam kisses Dean as they come down, holding him against the wall easily. When he finally lowers Dean’s feet to the floor Dean lifts his fingers to Sam’s mouth, letting him lick away the salty, bitter fluid. Sam’s eyes flutter as the power flows through him, pushing away the last traces of doubt and remorse. Dean feeds it all to him, stroking Sam’s hair with a faint smile as his brother sinks to the floor in front of him. Sam slowly cleans every trace of come from Dean’s cock and thighs, the rush of power less intense than Dean’s blood but just as addictive. Sam looks up at Dean when he’s done, eyes black and shining, and Dean pulls him up for one last kiss.

“Let’s go, little brother,” he says, and Sam can’t look away from his smile, never could. “We’ve got work to do.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam loves his brother. He does. But sometimes the weight of what they do, what they are, is just too much to bear.
> 
> prequel to Chapter One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *facepalm*
> 
> Yes, I know, I used a crack trope in a serious way. there will be people who hate and mock this because of it, I'm sure. Just...don't bother, okay? There's nothing you can say that I haven't already thought and I decided to post anyway because I still like it. 
> 
> For everyone else-I hope you enjoy it anyway! Also, please note that the warnings have changed DRASTICALLY, and this story may be triggering for some.

Dean’s only gone for a few minutes, just long enough to get a clean towel from the bathroom, for fuck’s sake, but even that is too long. The smell of blood hits him when he comes through the door, hot and thick and coppery, and he curses under his breath. He knows better than to leave Sam alone when he’s like this. 

But he can’t deny the arousal that hits him like a punch to the gut. Blood is still pumping out of the deep gash on Sam’s arm as he pants through the pain, pale and sweating, the knife he’d used to open the vein on the floor next to the blood soaked bed. He’s still naked, body perfect and beautiful, and fuck if there’s anything that turns Dean on more than Sam naked and bloody. He’d mostly rather it be someone else’s blood, but really, Dean’s not that fussy these days.

“You...you can’t stop me,” Sam gasps, chest heaving as his life drains away. Dean can see his pulse beating quick and thready under the thin skin of his throat. “Not...this...time.” 

“Sammy…” Dean’s on him in a flash, exasperated affection coloring his voice as he straddles Sam’s hips. He’s already half hard, despite getting them both off barely half an hour ago, and when he grinds down against Sam he slips in more blood, leaking from a puncture in Sam’s thigh. Somehow Sam had missed the femoral artery, thank God, but he’s still losing blood fast. “I don’t know why you make me do this.”

“Just let me go,” Sam moans, but his hips arch against Dean’s and his eyes flutter when his brother ruts against him, pain and want and need thickening his voice. 

Dean just sighs and grabs the knife from the floor. He resists the urge--barely--to lick Sam’s blood from the blade, and slashes across his own wrist instead. He presses the bloody flesh to Sam’s mouth, flexing his hand to strengthen the flow, but Sam refuses to swallow, lets the blood run from the corners of his mouth onto the already soaked mattress. His eyes lock with Dean’s, defiant, and dammit, Dean can feel Sam’s heartbeat slowing and stuttering, even as lust and frustration speed up his own pulse. 

“You really want to do this the hard way?” Dean snarls, anger at Sam’s stubbornness winning out over gentleness. He seals Sam’s mouth and nostrils closed, forcing him to swallow the mouthful of blood. Sam thrashes weakly underneath him as Dean does it again and again, but with Sam fighting him Dean can’t force enough into him fast enough to heal the damage Sam’s done to himself. 

“Fine, have it your way,” Dean growls, low and rough and heated, and then smiles with a tinge of cruelty. “Can’t say I really mind.” He lets go of Sam’s face, noting with satisfaction that the long gash from Sam’s wrist to his elbow has already partially closed, though blood is still pumping from the wound that remains. Dean can’t resist a long, slow lick down the length of the deep cut, the wounded sounds he forces from Sam causing his dick to twitch and leak as he slides down Sam’s body until he can force his legs apart. 

“No,” Sam moans, fighting Dean’s grip. Dean just grins down at him again, eyes like glass chips as he runs his hand through the pooled blood on Sam’s body and uses it to slick his cock. 

“Should have taken the easy way out, baby brother,” he purrs, and pushes into Sam hard, hips jerking savagely as he fights the hot, dry clench of Sam’s body until he’s fully sheathed. 

“Fuuuuck,” he moans, long and low, barely audible over Sam’s hoarse scream. “So fucking tight, Sammy. Not gonna last long, but that’s kinda the point, isn’t it?” He slams back in, feeling Sam tear around him, the extra blood easing the way as Sam arches off the bed with another hoarse cry.

“Please--” Sam begs weakly, but Dean just fucks him harder, vicious snaps of his hips as he buries himself inside his brother again and again. “Dean-- _Just let me go--_.”

“Let you go?” He lets go of Sam’s hip to wrap one hand around Sam’s throat instead, thumb digging into the raised red scar over Sam’s carotid artery. Sam’s eyes widen frantically as he tries to suck in a breath and can’t. Dean smirks down at him as Sam’s cock stirs against his hip, knows from experience that Sam would be rock hard if he had the blood to spare. “Like this, Sammy? Is this really what you want?” 

Sam arches into Dean’s grip, his good hand scrabbling weakly at Dean’s arm as his chest hitches in desperation. “I said, _is this what you want_?” Dean’s nearly shouting now, each word punctuated with a brutal thrust of his hips. Sam’s mouth works, head thrown back, eyes glazed, barely conscious, but Dean can still make out a single word. 

_yes_

Rage and pleasure surge through Dean, one feeding the other as his grip on Sam’s throat tightens, fingers clenching as Sam’s body spasms around him. Dean digs in harder, the swell of his orgasm rising, until the flesh under his fingers unexpectedly gives way with a snap that rocks through Dean like a shockwave. Sam jerks, gagging and choking, his throat a crushed and bloody ruin, and it’s the panicked terror in his eyes that pushes Dean over the edge as he shoves into Sam’s body one last time and comes with a shout. 

“ _Fuck_ , Sammy, _God_ ,” he groans as Sam convulses around him, tight muscles milking him through the aftershocks. He can already feel his power moving through Sam, carried in his blood and semen, working it’s miracles on Sam’s body. When he can breathe again, Dean lifts himself enough to scrape open the wound on his wrist. The blood flows freely over Sam’s throat and lips, and Sam swallows it down this time, moan leaking out against his will as his addiction takes over. Dean laughs quietly as Sam struggles to sit up, pushing Dean back down onto the bed in his eagerness. Dean tilts his head back, expecting Sam to go for his throat, but Sam surprises him by sinking his teeth into Dean’s thigh instead, lapping up the blood that oozes out of the deep mark. Dean hisses at the sharp pain but doesn’t pull away, even when Sam litters his skin with bites and scrapes, his own form of revenge. 

“That’s it, Sammy,” he says quietly instead, stroking Sam’s hair as he drinks. Sam’s not fully healed when Dean pulls him away--Dean’s still too annoyed to allow that--but he doesn’t fight when Dean pushes him gently back onto the bed. He just curls himself around Dean, a tight ball of misery that Dean wishes, briefly, that he knew how to fix...if only so he could break him all over again. He lets Sam sleep, drifting into memories and daydreams, already planning their next job. His reverie is interrupted when Sam shifts against him, mouth moving hot and wet along the column of Dean’s throat, instinctively seeking out the blood beating just beneath the surface.

“Alright, alright,” Dean says indulgently, and picks up the knife they’d used earlier. Sam watches sleepily, barely coherent, as Dean knicks himself, a tiny drop of blood welling to the surface. Sam latches onto the wound, nursing contentedly until he falls asleep again, leaving Dean to drift until Sam’s voice drags him back to full consciousness.


End file.
